Love Overboard

Chapter 1

WALKIE-TALKIE. BATTLE PLAN. BUTTERSCOTCH candy.

Emily Windsor sifted through the mess in her cavernous purse. Her hand dug until she found a well-worn, faded picture. The cheeky grin of her late husband stared back as he stood resplendent in his dress whites and flashy aviator sunglasses.

How she missed that smile.

“Good morning, love.” She smoothed a creased corner on the photo. “Time to launch a new mission. I can imagine the scolding you’d give me. But this match is worth the meddling, Bill. Even you’d agree that sweet girl is worth it.

“Lord”—she pointed her eyes heavenward—“I hope you’re taking good care of my man up there.”

Emily riffled in a side pocket. She grabbed a small set of opera glasses with the words Golden Years Tour Company printed on the side. If her calculations were correct, the target should appear at any moment. She peeked around the corner. Her seventy-eight-year-old spine cracked twice as she bent.

“Mrs. Windsor?”

Her jaw tightened at the squeaky voice. She faced the first mate, Peter. His frowsy white-blond hair and pasty complexion combined with his pristine uniform to give him the appearance of a skinny, befuddled ear swab. Was he going to offer her another lecture on the proper behavior for cruise ship passengers? It would make the second one this week.

His gaze bounced to the binoculars and back again. “Did you lose something?”

“No, dear.” She stuffed the equipment in her bag and slid the straps over her wrist. “Just preparing for the voyage.”

Three bells sounded on the loudspeaker, followed by an announcement.

Peter pointed at the ceiling. “It’s time for muster. Shouldn’t you head for your deck?”

“Pish-tosh. The ship won’t fall apart if I miss one safety drill.”

She tapped an orthopedic sandal against the carpet. His patient expression brought to mind the nurses in the assisted living facility she’d briefly called home when she’d experienced a slight problem with her heart. He raised his voice and spoke in a slow, measured tone as if she was hard of hearing.

“I. Know. You’ve. Done it. Many. Times. But every. Passenger. Has. To be there.”

“I. Un. Der. Stand.” Emily pasted on her best doting-Nana impression. She patted his elbow. “Now don’t waste your time on me. You have a cruise to launch.” One more pat, and she headed for the elevators at the end of the hallway.

Peter called a goodbye at her retreating back and walked in the opposite direction. She waited until he was out of sight, then returned to her post. Nothing and no one would delay her mission of arranging a love match for Lacey Anderson. In the days gone by, when Emily still held out hope for children of her own, she had pictured a daughter just like the hard-shell, soft-center cruise ship hostess.

Lacey had adopted Emily without permission. The young woman always checked if the septuagenarian was eating well, taking her medicine, and getting enough exercise. It was bothersome in the most endearing way. That kind of mothering soul should have kids to love on, and Emily was determined to find the perfect father for those yet-unrealized offspring.

She drew a breath, poked her head around the corner, and jerked back. After Emily raised the walkie-talkie and pressed the side button, static crackled.

“All operatives, take your positions. Operation Ambush is a go.”

Lacey froze at the familiar sound. She recognized that voice.

Maybe it was a coincidence. There were lots of people on this deck. Lacey moved again, at a cautious pace this time.

No need to be paranoid. The sweet-but-salty meddler couldn’t possibly know where she was. Lacey had avoided Emily Windsor ever since she recognized the gleam in the lady’s eye. She used to laugh at the incorrigible woman’s matchmaking schemes, but now that they were focused on her, Lacey’s stomach quivered like a lifeboat in a hurricane. Romance wasn’t on her to-do list. Ever.

Static crackled, and Lacey heard the whispered words she feared.

“Target located.”

She fought the urge to run. It wouldn’t be dignified for a Monarch Cruises employee. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t take evasive maneuvers. She swung on her heel and skulked away.

The shiny faux-wood doors of the ship’s cabins zoomed by as she hurried through the connecting corridor that led to the parallel hallway. The heels of her navy pumps sank in the carpet and slowed her progress. Lacey glanced over her shoulder and saw a flash of floral print coming into view.

Not today!

She took a right and almost plowed into the noisy group of passengers filling the space. They pounded the back of a large, bearded man with a T-shirt declaring, in lime-green letters, “Walter’s 40th Wedding Anniversary.” Lacey straightened her white hostess jacket and sidestepped with a smile, her body pressed against the wall. They passed without acknowledging her, as she preferred—part of the invisible but efficient service customers bragged about when they reached home.

Another crackle.

Where were they? Why couldn’t she lose them?

Lacey craned her neck to see past the rowdy cruisers and spotted a pint-size head with a mass of frizzy gray curls under Walter’s chubby arm as he stretched with a groan. Forget conducting herself with decorum. She bolted like a three-year-old at bath time and rushed down the hall. Taking a hard left, she slammed into something tall and unyielding.

“Whoa,” a man said as they collided.

Two large hands grasped her arms as her nose pressed into a broad chest covered in the white Monarch polo. It must belong to the fitness director. He was the only male crew member with such a well-defined torso.

“Sorry, Sven.” She ducked behind his muscular physique, hoping her pursuer would pass without discovering her. “The Shippers are after me.”

“What’s a Shipper?”

Lacey’s insides clenched at the voice. It definitely didn’t belong to Sven, but she knew that butter-smooth baritone. She just refused to believe what her ears were telling her. The man turned, and she looked up into the symmetrically perfect features of Jonathan King. It was a face she had worked hard to forget. Chocolate-brown hair, dark and twinkling eyes, one straight nose that had never seen a fight, and a pair of lips that were full enough to be kissable yet manly.

“Lace?” His eyes widened as he stared down at her. “Is that you?”

“Hello, Jon.” Lacey eased away, but he reached out and pulled her in for a bear hug.

“How long has it been? Two years?”

A riptide of old emotions swept through her as Jon crushed her body against his. Lacey’s heart pounded so hard she feared he might feel it. She concentrated on breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

In and in.

No, wait. That wasn’t right. How could her brain still be this affected by the man? She stood straight as a broomstick with her hands at her sides and waited for the hug to end.

“Two and a half,” she said in a muffled voice from inside his embrace. “But who’s counting?”

Hewas counting. It had been two years and seven months since Lacey Anderson walked out of his life. Correction—she bailed off the boat without so much as a goodbye. Jon held Lacey a few seconds longer than an ex-boyfriend should, enjoying the way she fit against him, her head tucked under his chin. Then he finally noted she wasn’t reciprocating and let her go.

She could have posed for a cruise commercial with her shapely figure and spotless uniform. Her honey-blond hair was twisted in a sophisticated knot at the nape of her neck. Was it still as long as he remembered—from when it was normal to give the silky strands a mischievous tug?

“How have you been?”

“Very well, thank you.” Her tone stayed in business-friendly mode. “What are you doing here? I thought you were working the Scandinavian route.”

“Been keeping tabs on me?” Jon bumped her with his elbow and grinned.

“No.” Lacey stepped away—out of bumping distance. “Someone happened to mention it once.”

Jon also withdrew a step and studied her like a stranger instead of the woman he still dreamed about from time to time. He’d known she worked on this ship when he took the assignment and had wondered how Lacey would feel when she saw him again. Gazing at the model of politeness in front of him, he still wondered.

“Meet the new cruise director.” He gave a slight bow. “The old one backed out at the last minute, and I got a promotion.” Technically that was true, if he counted his predecessor floating face down in the Atlantic without a pulse as “backing out.” “I was in the right place at the right time.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Lacey raised her left eyebrow so it pointed in the middle. “You were always good at whatever job you tried.”

Jon recognized the look. He’d been the recipient of that snarky eyebrow on more than one occasion. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“On the contrary, the MS Buckingham will benefit greatly from your varied talents. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to swing by the dining room on the way to my muster station.”

She fake-smiled and scooted around him without making physical contact. His old flame was sending signals loud and clear, none of them good, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why. Shouldn’t he be the one with a grudge?

Two years and seven months ago, they’d finished a long sailing stretch and taken the mandatory vacation period the cruise line required of all the employees. Whenever he’d tried to have a “defining the relationship” conversation in the past, she’d always put him off. But he’d sensed her softening in her unguarded comments about their future. He and Lacey had made a dinner date for after she returned from visiting her family. Jon had practiced his speech a dozen times, trying to find the most sincere, nonthreatening, romantic way to say “I love you.” But all his preparation had been in vain. She never showed, changed her phone number, and requested a transfer to a different ship. His pulverized heart required months of soul-searching and midnight prayers to recover.

Lacey did the abandoning. He should be the standoffish one. Instead, his rowdy pulse could rival a high school marching band at a homecoming game.

“The dining room?” Jon followed as she strode purposefully away from him. “I was hoping to meet the chef before we sailed. You can introduce me.”

Might as well use Lacey to make inroads with the staff. He needed to win people over fast. Then they would let him in on the latest scuttlebutt.

Work.

That was the reason he was tagging along, not because of any residual feelings he still harbored for the beautiful hostess. Jon ignored the frustrated puff of air she blew from her nostrils and kept up a casual stream of conversation as he fell in beside her.

Lacey hurried, but so did Jon. The infuriating man from her past kept pace with her no matter how fast she walked. She bit her tongue to keep from shouting, “Go away already!”

“How have you been?” he said.

“You already asked me that.”

“Did I? Has the answer changed in the last two minutes?”

One thing hadn’t changed. He could still charm a fish out of the ocean and straight into his net. His presence filled the space around them as the hallway seemed to shrink. Lacey scanned the passage for an escape route, but reason reasserted itself. They were stuck together on this boat, and her contract had three months remaining before she could request a new station. Perhaps cruise ships appeared massive to the passengers, but they were claustrophobic to the employees who lived with each other day and night. Crew members might as well be attached at the hip.

Jon chatted, and Lacey grunted in response until they reached the elevators. The area was empty except for an older woman in white polyester slacks and a long-sleeved paisley blouse, carrying an ancient black handbag. She ran unsteady fingers over her disheveled mass of silver-gray curls.

“Mrs. Windsor?” Lacey stared at the short lady. There was the same floral print she’d spied underneath Walter’s arm as she’d fled down the hall. How had this frail woman beaten her here?

“Hello, Lacey.” The woman’s voice sounded a bit breathless as she greeted her. “So nice … to see you. And who … is this fine young man?”

“Jonathan King, ma’am.” He straightened tall and gave her a salute. “I’m the MS Buckingham’s new cruise director, at your service.”

“How wonderful.” The pocket-size woman with the poofy mop of hair beamed at him. “I’m Emily Windsor. Tell me, Jonathan—”

“Please, call me Jon.”

“And you must call me Emily. Tell me, Jon, are you married?”

“No, ma’am. Are you?”

“My wonderful husband, Bill, went to be with the Lord. He was a navy captain, and we had fifty-one years of traveling the world together.”

“You must have led an exciting life.”

“I did. But it wouldn’t have been half as much fun without Bill. Trust me, Jon, marriage is a risk worth taking.”

Lacey cleared her throat as she reached to press the call button. “It’s only fair to warn you, Jon. You’re speaking with the ship’s most notorious matchmaker. She lives on board year-round, and no one is safe from her machinations.”

“Machinations!” Emily placed her small, wrinkled hands over her chest. “You make love sound like a trip to the dentist, Lacey.”

“I think I’d prefer the dentist. At least they give you anesthesia.”

Emily’s lips pinched in a sad little line. “You can’t run forever, dear.”

“But I can try.” Lacey winked at her sweet stalker. “Have you taken your medicine today?”

“Oh, pish-tosh.” Emily flicked a wrist. “The bracing sea air is all the medicine I require.”

“Not according to the doctor.”

Emily focused her light-blue eyes on Jon, who was looking bemused and a little startled, and pointed a finger at Lacey. “Don’t let her gruff exterior fool you. This one will take care of everyone else before herself.”

He grinned. “I’m well aware of her softer side.”

The bell dinged as the elevator doors slid open. Lacey leaned inside and pressed the button for the seventh floor, placed a gentle palm on Emily’s back, and pushed her in. “I’m sure I heard the muster announcement. You’d better get going. Promise me you’ll take your medicine before dinner.”

Emily clicked her tongue. “Very well, dear. If it will make you happy.”

The doors closed, and Lacey turned to Jon and his ever-present smile. “No time for the dining room.” She dashed toward the stairs before he could respond. “I have to tell Chef about a VIP passenger’s special cake request after we finish the drill. Nice to see you.”

“Cake? I love cake. What kind did they order?”

Jon caught up in two strides, and Lacey finally halted in defeat. No sense wearing herself out if he refused to take a hint. She didn’t remember him being this slow on the uptake. Perhaps she should be more direct about her desire to be left alone.

She opened her mouth. “Listen, Jon—”

A text alert dinged.

Jon pulled his phone from his pocket. His shoulders straightened as he scanned the screen. “Sorry, Lace. We’ll have to continue our conversation later.”

He sprinted past her, taking the stairs three at a time. His attractive form disappeared in a matter of seconds, and Lacey’s lips twisted.

“Same old Jon.”

Nice of him to remind her why it hadn’t worked the first time around. The flighty charmer was always racing away without warning or explanation. And she was a girl who needed explanations. She wanted stability. Craved it. And Jon represented a pulse-racing jump off the cliff of uncertainty. No matter how gorgeous the man was, he couldn’t be trusted. Not with her heart or anything else.

Like someone else she knew.